Chaos.

Traditionally, we put up our christmas tree the Saturday before Thanksgiving. We travel during the turkey day festivities, arriving home exhausted and it's always been fun to have a head start on the Advent holiday events.

This Saturday the Poppa has a big-all-day event at our church, so we decided we'd decorate a little bit each evening.

Fan-freaking-tastic idea!!
Unless you have a 4 year old and a 2 year who LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE having boxes and boxes and crates and crates piled full of christmasy glarp spread all over the living room & kitchen.

Every strand of lights has been properly oooohed and ahhed. The nativity cradled x 1000. And the annoying Christmas bear who tells the ENTIRE Dickens Christmas tale when you push his hand has been properly decapitated (thank you POPPA. I love you forever & ever.)

I'm kidding. I'm kidding.
(Just about the every strand light part. Everything else is true.)

Tonight after four christmas bulbs were smashed into smithereens, handfuls fake pine needles strewn like confetti across the floor and at least two momma melt downs, I am sitting here observing the mess that is in my living room.

And my heart so full with love that it is about to beat out of my chest.

Six years ago the Poppa & I quietly put up our christmas tree.
In a silent house. With silent, empty hearts.
My house was clean, organized and controlled.
The ornament boxes stacked nice & neat.
But my heart was shattered. I wanted a baby so badly.

As I wipe away my tears of thanksgiving, I survey the mess made by my kids as they have pandered through the ornaments, stockings and tinsel. I reach over & pick up the tiny figurine of the babe in the manager.

And I bow my head to worship.